A Soul's Lament
by KataHime
Summary: To meet her soulmate, she needed to survive. Soulmate AU/Vampire AU. Jen/Abby, pre-relationship.


**A Soul's Lament**

**Mix of two prompts: Soulmate!AU where the date you meet them is on your arm. Vampire!AU People have the number of years until they meet their soulmate written on their wrist. You don't understand why yours says 536 until you become a vampire. Now you have just one goal: survive long enough to meet your soulmate.**

**A/N: I really loved both prompts, so I combined them. Jen/Abby, pre-relationship**

* * *

Jenefer Cheveau was born in 1451 to a poor family in what became France and sold into slavery years later. For as long as she could remember, the date she would meet her soulmate was etched into her arm. Every year, it became more confusing to her. January 1st. The first day was not confusing, but what was a January? When she reaches her eighteenth year in 1469, a feat few have accomplished, she sees the year she'll meet her soulmate. The year 2005 confuses her. 536 years. Surely it must be a mistake, lest God be punishing her for her sins. To outlive her siblings only to be shown her soulmate was centuries away? Yes, it had to be a trick.

Not long after she reaches her eighteenth year, her master sells her to another. The man, Roland, comes for her late at night, long after the sun has set. His eyes glowed with a sinister light, but she was unafraid. She had lost so much to tremble beneath his gaze. When Rolland smiles at her, she is put at ease, if only for a moment. He does not speak until they have returned to his residence. The dark house is lit by the low glow of candlelight.

"I've been searching for you," he explains, exposing his wrist. His wrist reads 1965. She looks up at him, confused. Had he also been smited by God? He speaks again, softly, "This is a very unique trait that only a few possess, my dear. If you wish to find your soulmate, I'll need you to trust me."

"But I don't," she stops, captivated by his eyes once more. They glowed a blood red when a moment ago they had been a harsh green, "What if I never find my soulmate?"

"You must trust in the power I bestow upon you, child. It will never lead you astray."

This is her chance, and she knows it. She swallows her sudden nervousness, the slightest hint of trepidation coating her throat, "I will trust you."

He smiles again, steps closer, "I'm glad you saw it my way."

He's quick as he exposes her neck and bites down. Liquid fire fills her veins, the pain immense, yet she can't cry out. She feels the power, raw and intense as every sense is dulled and then increase a hundred-fold. Her heartbeat slows until it finally stops. Everything stops, the pain, the despair, the worry. She opens her eyes, a ravenous hunger overtaking her. She had never felt this hungry before.

Rolland's hand rests on her shoulder, "Let's get you something to eat, my dear. I'll guide you until you no longer need me."

Her first feed is the most satisfying.

* * *

The centuries pass in blurs, each bloodier and grotesque than the last. As the centuries pass, so does her identity. She ages slowly, moves around constantly. She learns new languages to pass the time. She spends an entire hundred years living underground during England's absolute monarchy in the 1500s; she ventures out quietly to the plays of Shakespeare, meets in secret with da Vinci.

Her name changes every 30 or so years. She has no real friends, just Rolland when he visits and the others like her, like them.

The wars are many, great. She despises them and the implication they possess. Mortals die for no reason other than greed and power.

Some centuries she watches the number on her wrist get smaller. When the Great War breaks out in 1914, she flees to America, not out of personal safety, no, but rather because the strong pull of desire pulls her there.

Nearly 150 name changes and appearances later, she settles on the Alice Davis, an English immigrant fleeing from war, her family dead. Her gift charms her into the US easily, more tricks for citizenship, even more for birthright status. It disgusts her, when she knows of all the ones seeking refuge, that her gift allows her the ability. Years later, in 1936, she uses the gift for a social security card.

* * *

The one thing she hated was the constant birth year changes. She keeps her birth day and month, 28 of the winter full moon. October the 28th of the Gregorian calendar. She develops her accents, moves around the ever-expanding United States. When the Second War breaks out in 1939, she burrows deeper into the States, settling in Arizona. Rolland helps her to set up an account with the bank, gives her money. She settles on finding a job in a war-torn world. She hates it, hates everything about it. She's lived nearly 500 years by the time the second war ends and she wants to change it.

She works her way back to Virginia, settles in a modest house. Over the years, she became immune to the sun's effects, but for only an hour or so. She could see her reflection in mirrors that weren't lined with silver. She could pass as a normal woman, if not for her need of food, drink or sleep. But she had to feed, depending on how much she took in, she could last a few weeks or so. Her body healed all infected blood or ailments immediately, which made the worry of blood-borne diseases a thing of the past.

* * *

In 1965, she changed her name again, this time to one she would want to be keeping for awhile longer than any previous. She knew she would be meeting her soulmate with this name. She remembered every name she took, and her first name, her birth name, called out to her. Jenefer. She changed that easily, Jennifer. Cheveau nearly a challenge; she had originally wanted a C but went with S instead. She changed it easily to Shepard, like a shepherd leading a flock, like her gift leading her to her soulmate. She got another birth certificate and social number.

Rolland greets her one last time, well wishes and hopes in his eyes. Tomorrow he'll meet his soulmate, after so many long years of waiting. It's nearly two decades later when she reads of the death of her master, Rolland Beau, just days after his wife of 20 years was killed in a car crash. She supposes not even a vampire could survive a house fire, accompanied by the burning sun. She's not sure when she stops believing.

* * *

Her promised year arrives. The year is 2005; a lot had changed. She's worked her way up through the ranks of a military agency, bullets unable to pierce her, her intelligence and wit crafted over centuries; she's due to run the agency soon. She's survived for this moment; her anticipation is insane. She feeds more and more as the days go by.

January 1st is a bitter cold day in Georgetown. She walks along the street, not quite prowling, but on edge. Everyone she meets, she suspects.

"You'll know," Rolland had told her, "You'll know."

The sun parts the clouds, and she blinks while standing at the crosswalk. Even after all this time, the annoyance the sun provided hadn't faded, even in the snow-covered land. She doubt it ever would. Her wrist throbs gently. She glances discreetly as a human walks up beside her. The woman was decidedly Gothic. Dark hair sticks out in a lazy ponytail, her makeup light eyeshadow and dark red lipstick; she wears a large winter jacket over top a long-sleeved shirt, black jeans and warm snow boots. She can make out a couple tattoos peeking from exposed skin. She feels underdressed for the cold, a light red jacket and a scarf covering her pantsuit as her only protection, leggings and heels on her feet. She didn't feel the cold, not really, so it was hard to pick her dress.

Her wrist burns, and then young woman grabs at her wrist too, but doesn't look up; she was gorgeous, and if her heart could beat, she was sure it would have skipped several. This mysterious stranger seems lost in thought, stepping forward blindly to cross the street. A car blares its horn. She reaches out without thinking, the instant reaction to protect this human, pulling the woman back, if not a bit harsher than she had planned, right before the car can hit her, both of them stumbling slightly. The warm body falls gracefully over her, and she feels contentment and desire; it's reminiscent of her first feed, addicting all the same.

A warm blush overtakes the woman, as she stutters out an apology, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to land on you."

She licks her lips, feels the sharp point of her teeth, "That's alright," She holds out her hand to help the woman to her feet "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," the black-haired girl sticks out her hand, a radiant smile on her lips, "I'm Abby, Abby Sciuto."

She shakes it, feels an electric shock flow through her, "Jennifer Shepard. Pleased to meet you."

They stand there for a moment, the outside world fading away to nothing, captivated by the other. She clears her throat, breaks eye contact lest she wished to drown in the dark emerald, "Would you like to get a coffee, Abby? My treat."

Abby's lips quirk into a bemused smile, "Sure. There's a coffee shop not far from here," Abby sets off in the direction, and she feels a relaxed smile slip onto her lips. She won't drink much, if any, of the hot liquid, but anything to spend more time with the woman.

When she glances at her wrist, the dark black number is gone, and she knows if she could glance at her arm, the date would be as well. Abby snuggles closer without much thought, and she wraps an arm around her protectively. She knows it, without a doubt, her gift leading her to this moment.

"So," Abby asks after they've settled into a booth in the coffee shop and placed their orders, "where are you from?"

She chuckles softly, feels her bloodlust fade slightly, "Oh, my dear, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed! Please review!**


End file.
